Michelle Dsouza

This book has a special place in my heart because it made reading feel fun again. And once that happened, I didn't stop. Part of Your World was the gateway to me finishing 24 books in the second half of 2025. Going from 0 books in the previous 15 years!

I picked it up thinking I'd read a few chapters and “see how it goes.” Reader. It went.

Abby Jimenez writes romance the way your funniest friend tells a story: warm, sharp, and weirdly comforting even when it's dragging you through feelings you weren't prepared to process at 11:30pm on a Tuesday. The characters feel like real people, not “romance people.” They're messy, stubborn, kind in the ways that matter, and trying their best while still occasionally doing the dumbest possible thing (relatable content, honestly).

The romance is top tier. It's not just chemistry, it's that delicious slow-bloom tension where you're rooting for them but also yelling, “PLEASE COMMUNICATE,” like you're personally invested in their emotional development. And when it gets tender, it's properly tender. Not cringe. Not cheesy. Just that soft, steady kind of love that makes you exhale and think, “Okay wow, maybe I do believe in good things.”

Also, it's funny. Like actually funny. Not “I breathed out my nose” funny. It has the kind of humor that catches you off guard in the best way, the kind that makes you want to highlight lines and send them to friends with zero context. The cozy small-town vibe is a whole hug too. You can practically smell the coffee and poor decisions.

What I loved most is how it balances the sparkle with substance. It's sweet and swoony, yes, but it also has heart. There's depth under the banter. And by the end, you don't just feel entertained, you feel like you spent time with people who stuck with you.

If you've been in a reading slump, this is a dangerous recommendation because you might come out the other side with a Kindle streak, a TBR that looks like a grocery receipt, and an identity crisis because apparently you are “a romance reader” now.

Anyway. This book did not just get me back into reading. It made reading feel like home again. Four stars, and a thank you note for changing my 2025 in the best way.

I didn't give much of a fck about this book, ironically.The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fck is basically a mindset book dressed up in a blunt, comedic voice. Mark Manson's main point is that life will always have problems, so you need to choose what's actually worth caring about, drop the performative positivity, and build values that can handle reality. It's meant to be a wake-up call for people drowning in pressure, comparison, and “good vibes only” nonsense.

And to be fair, there are a few solid reminders in here. The idea of being selective with your energy and prioritizing what matters is useful, and I can see why the tone makes it approachable for people who hate traditional self-help.

But for me, it felt like a lot of attitude wrapped around fairly familiar advice. The style did more eye-rolling than enlightening, and I didn't walk away with many new tools or insights I actually wanted to apply. It's not terrible, it just didn't hit for me personally.

If you like casual, swear-y self-help with a “tough love” vibe, you'll probably enjoy it more than I did.

I read this a long time ago and it just didn't click for me.

Eat, Pray, Love is a memoir about Elizabeth Gilbert hitting a breaking point, then taking a year-long journey across Italy, India, and Indonesia to rebuild herself through pleasure, spirituality, and balance. It's meant to be reflective and uplifting, with plenty of travel vibes and self-discovery along the way.

But for me, it was mild and honestly a bit of a drag. I kept waiting for the momentum or the emotional punch that would explain the massive hype, and it never really arrived. The writing has moments of charm and insight, and I can see why it felt revolutionary for a lot of readers when it came out, especially if you're craving a “start over and find yourself” story. I just didn't feel pulled in, and it didn't leave a lasting impact the way I expected.

If you love introspective travel memoirs and you enjoy watching someone think their way through a life reset, you might have a totally different experience. For me, it was a slow read I had to push through.

This book found me exactly when I needed it.

Cold Tangerines is a collection of short essays about everyday life, the kind of moments that usually pass unnoticed until someone teaches you how to look. Shauna Niequist writes about friendships, food, seasons, change, and those quiet in-between days when you're holding it together but you're not sure what you're doing next. When I read it, I was in one of those seasons myself. Not a crisis, not a breakthrough, just that tender, confusing middle where you're trying to figure out how to be a person. This book felt like company in that space.

Although I was raised Catholic, I'm more of a ‘I know god is everywhere and not just in church' girl. My relationship with God is present but not primary, if you will. But here's the thing: it didn't block the book from landing. The heart of what she's saying still worked beautifully.

Shauna Niequist' ability to pull meaning out of things that look small until someone points at them is unbeatable. A meal becomes a memory. A conversation becomes a turning point. A random Tuesday becomes proof that your life is happening right now, not later when you “have it together.” The tone feels like a friend who isn't trying to fix you, just sitting beside you and saying, “Look. This counts too.”

Reading it felt like sitting on a comfy couch, exhaling, and remembering that joy is often small, simple, and completely available if you pay attention. By the time I finished, I wanted to call my people, cook something comforting, and pay attention again. Not in a performative “gratitude journal” way. In a real way. In a “let me stop acting like my life is something I have to earn” way.

This book is gentle, yes. But it's also sneaky. It gets under your skin and makes you kinder to your own ordinary days.

First read it in school, reread it at least 4 times since, and it still hits hard.

1984 is a dystopian classic set in a world where the government controls everything: information, language, history, even private thoughts. We follow Winston Smith, a man trying to survive inside a system built on surveillance, fear, and propaganda, where truth is something you're told, not something you discover. It's a tense, unsettling book, and it's meant to be.

What keeps me coming back to it is how sharp and chilling the ideas are. Orwell doesn't just describe a scary future, he shows how power works when it's unchecked: how people can be manipulated, how reality can be rewritten, how language can be used to shrink what you're even allowed to think. It's the kind of book that makes you pause mid-page because you realize you've seen versions of these tactics in real life, just packaged differently.

The last time I reread it was 2016, and even then it felt painfully relevant. Honestly, it still is. It's not an “enjoyable” read in a cozy way, but it's absolutely a necessary one. Poignant, disturbing, and unforgettable.

A classic mindset-shifter, even if you don't treat it as gospel.

Rich Dad, Poor Dad is less of a step-by-step money manual and more of a perspective reset. Robert Kiyosaki uses the idea of two father figures, one “rich” in mindset and one “poor” in mindset, to explain how different beliefs about money can shape your entire life. The book focuses on the difference between working for money vs. having money work for you, and it pushes you to think in terms of assets, long-term wealth, and financial education.

What I liked most is how accessible it is. It's written in a way that makes you question the default path most of us were taught, and it's very good at sparking motivation. The concepts around building assets, understanding cash flow, and thinking like an owner (not just an employee) really stick, and it's the kind of book that makes you want to take action immediately.

That said, it's not a technical personal finance guide, and some parts feel more like philosophy than practical instruction. But as a starting point, or a mindset shift for anyone who's never thought deeply about money, it's genuinely valuable.

Cute, classic, and exactly the kind of romance that makes you a little soft.

The Notebook is a love story told through memory and devotion, following Noah and Allie as their relationship unfolds across time, class differences, and the kind of choices that change everything. It's romantic in that old-school, earnest way and it leans fully into big feelings, sweeping nostalgia, and the idea of a love that refuses to fade.

What I liked most is how easy it is to sink into. It's not trying to be clever or edgy, it's just here to make you feel something. The writing is simple, the pacing moves quickly, and the emotional pull builds in a way that's very Nicholas Sparks: tender, dramatic, and occasionally heartbreaking. It's the kind of book you finish with a little sigh and a “fine, love is real” moment.

Is it the most complex romance I've ever read? No. But it's sweet, comforting, and it delivers what it promises.

Loved the book, loved the movie, and I'm still not over it.

The Devil Wears Prada is a delicious, sharp, fast-paced story about a young woman who lands a job working for a terrifyingly powerful fashion magazine editor and quickly realizes she's entered a world where “normal” rules don't apply. It's glamorous, stressful, hilarious, and kind of horrifying, because the price of keeping up is always higher than you think. Beyond the fashion and name-dropping, it's really about ambition, identity, and how easily your life can get swallowed by a job that doesn't believe in boundaries.

This one is personal for me because I read it back in 2005 before the movie even came out, and then watched the movie the second it was released. And honestly? Both hold up. The book has that addictive “one more chapter” energy, and the whole experience feels like a backstage pass to a world that's shiny on the outside and ruthless underneath. It's funny, it's dramatic, and it's weirdly relatable if you've ever had a job that slowly convinces you your exhaustion is a personality trait.

And yes, I still watch the movie in 2026 whenever it's on. It's a comfort watch at this point. Iconic characters, iconic vibe, iconic everything.

Loved this. Genuinely one of the most useful “life framework” books I've read.

The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People isn't a quick-fix productivity book. It's more like a personal operating system. Stephen R. Covey breaks down seven habits that move you from reactive and overwhelmed to intentional, grounded, and actually in control of your choices. It's about character, clarity, and long-term effectiveness, not just hacks and hustle.

What made it perfect for me is the structure. It gives you a clear way to think about priorities, relationships, and decision-making without making you feel like you need to become a different person overnight. The habits build on each other in a way that feels logical and empowering, and even when the concepts are big, the takeaway is practical: focus on what you can control, set principles, create boundaries, and stop living on autopilot.

It also hits hard if you're someone who overthinks or takes on too much (hi, it's me). This book helped me zoom out, get honest about what actually matters, and act like my values are real, not just a nice idea.

If you want a book that makes you feel steadier, sharper, and more intentional, this is the one.

In Her Shoes is the kind of book that sneaks up on you.

At first, it feels like you're settling in for a sharp, funny, very early-2000s family drama (in the best way). Two sisters who could not be more different, constantly stepping on each other's lives, pushing buttons they installed in childhood. You think you know where it's going.

And then Jennifer Weiner does that thing where she quietly deepens the whole story until you're suddenly invested in everyone's inner world and questioning why you ever judged any of them in the first place.

What I loved is how human it is. Messy, tender, frustrating, and weirdly comforting. The sister dynamic especially feels painfully real, like someone took every unspoken family tension, every comparison, every “why can't you just...” argument and put it on the page with perfect accuracy. There's humor, sure, but it's the kind that sits right next to the heartbreak, not the kind that tries to distract from it.

And it's not just about the sisters. The relationships around them, the way people carry their insecurities, their shame, their pride, their need to be seen, it's all handled with so much empathy. Nobody is a cartoon villain. Even when someone is being deeply annoying, you can still understand how they got there. That's rare, and it makes the emotional payoffs hit harder.

Also, it has that delicious “just one more chapter” energy because each scene pushes something forward. A secret cracks open. A misunderstanding shifts. A character grows, but not in a makeover montage kind of way. More like the slow, reluctant, realistic kind of growth that comes from finally facing yourself.

By the end, I wasn't just entertained, I felt softened. Like I'd spent time inside a family, with all its chaos and love and complicated history, and came out of it a little more understanding.

If you want a smart, heartfelt read that's funny and emotional without being cheesy, this one delivers. And it'll probably make you want to call your sister. Or at least text her something neutral like, “Hope you're alive.”

This book genuinely changed how I look at food.

In Defense of Food is one of those rare reads that doesn't just inform you, it rewires your brain a little. Michael Pollan takes a brutally simple approach to a topic we've all managed to make wildly complicated: eating. The core message sounds almost too basic to be revolutionary, but after you read the book, you realize how far modern food culture has drifted from common sense.

Pollan's biggest win is how he explains why we're so confused. He goes after “nutritionism” (the obsession with nutrients over actual food) and shows how we've been trained to shop for health claims and microscopic components instead of meals. It made me realize how often I've eaten “products” while telling myself I was being healthy.

Loved the insights for eg. Food vs. food-like products: If it's made in a factory and engineered to be irresistible, it's probably not “food” in the traditional sense. Or don't outsource your diet to marketing: Health halos (“low-fat,” “high-protein,” “immune boosting”) can be noise that distracts from what's actually in the box.

Traditional diets weren't perfect, but they were coherent: Pollan makes a strong case that food cultures and habits often beat modern “optimised” eating plans, because they're sustainable and human.

If your great-grandmother wouldn't recognize it as food, skip it. (This one is weirdly effective.) What I loved most is the tone: it's smart, slightly skeptical, and feels like a friend grabbing you gently by the shoulders and saying, “You're not failing at food. The system is confusing on purpose.”

If you've ever felt overwhelmed by diet rules, trends, or contradictory health headlines, this is the reset button.

I love Neil Gaiman, and this one hit me in a deeply personal way.

Coraline is a dark fantasy about a girl who moves into a new home, feels bored and unseen, and then discovers a hidden door that leads to an “other” version of her life. At first, it seems better. More attention, more comfort, more everything. But of course, the magic comes with a price, and what starts as curiosity turns into something genuinely creepy and high-stakes.

Neil Gaiman is incredible at that fairytale-style storytelling where the sentences are simple but the emotions underneath are huge. This book is spooky, yes, but it's also about bravery, loneliness, and what it means to choose your real life even when it's hard. And that's why it got me. I've often lived life like Coraline, metaphorically, pushing through the unsettling parts, figuring things out on my own, learning to be brave before I felt ready. So reading it felt emotional in a way I didn't expect.

It's short, but it lingers. One of those books that feels like a story and a metaphor at the same time, and somehow both are true.

Read this years ago and it's still one of my all-time favorites.

All the Bright Places is a tender, heartbreaking, and quietly hopeful story about two teenagers who find each other at a time when they're both carrying more than they know how to name. It's part love story, part coming-of-age, and part exploration of what it feels like to be alive when your brain is not being kind to you. There's also this beautiful thread of noticing the world, going on little adventures, collecting moments and places, which makes the book feel like it's trying to hand you light in small, believable pieces.

What makes it stick with me, even years later, is how emotionally honest it feels. It doesn't sugarcoat pain, but it also doesn't reduce the characters to their struggles. There are bright moments of humor, tenderness, and connection that feel real, like tiny sparks that show up when you least expect them. I read it a few years ago, but it still sits in that category of books that feel personal, like it met me in a specific season of my life and left a mark.

This isn't a light read, but it's a meaningful one. If you like emotional YA that focuses on connection, hope, and the complicated realities of mental health, this one stays with you.

I don't say this lightly: Powerless and Reckless had me in a chokehold.

I loved the banter so much I was basically reading with a grin on my face half the time, then immediately forcing the book onto my personality like, “Hi yes, this is my entire vibe now.” The back-and-forth is ridiculously good. Sharp, flirty, unhinged in the best way, and it somehow makes the tension feel even louder because every line feels like a challenge.

And the obsession was real. I was talking about these books for weeks like I had insider information. You know when you read something and suddenly every conversation becomes, “Okay but LISTEN...” That was me. Constantly. No shame.

Also, reading the series in under 3 weeks? Same energy as binge-watching a show and resurfacing like a Victorian child seeing sunlight for the first time. It's just that addictive. Every chapter is a “one more” situation, the stakes keep escalating, and the chemistry stays chemistry-ing the whole way through.

I'd give it 10 stars if I could. Easy. No notes. Just me, still thinking about the banter and refusing to move on like a healthy person.

Spookier, darker, and still totally magical.

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets takes you back to Hogwarts for Harry's second year, but this time the castle feels less like a dream and more like a place with secrets in the walls. Strange things start happening, students are being attacked, and rumors spread about a hidden chamber connected to Hogwarts' past. Harry, Ron, and Hermione get pulled into a mystery that's genuinely creepy in the best way, with clues, legends, and a growing sense that the danger is real.

What I love about this book is how it deepens the world. You learn more about Hogwarts history, the politics of the wizarding world, and the way fear can spread through a community. It still has all the cozy school-year charm, but it adds suspense and a darker edge that makes the series feel bigger and more serious.

It's also one of the most satisfying “mystery” books in the series. The plot keeps moving, the stakes feel personal, and the payoff is classic Harry Potter: brave, clever, and impossible not to root for.

I grew up with the movie, and reading the book feels like returning to a cozy, familiar world.

Little Women is a classic coming-of-age story about the four March sisters, Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy, growing up in a close-knit home during the Civil War era. It's about family, sisterhood, love, loss, ambition, and the everyday moments that quietly shape who you become. There isn't one big dramatic plot twist driving it. The magic is in the relationships and the way life unfolds in small, meaningful chapters.

What I adore is how warm it feels. The sister dynamics are so real, the personalities are distinct, and you end up caring about their dreams like they're your own. It's tender and comforting, but it also has emotional weight, especially as the girls learn that growing up means change, and change can hurt even when it's normal.

If you grew up with the movie like I did, the book adds even more depth. It makes the March family feel fuller, and it gives you that nostalgic “this shaped me” feeling, but in a gentle, grounded way.

Bread of Angels reads less like a “tell-all memoir” and more like being invited into Patti's inner world. It's intimate, reflective, and kind of dreamy, the way her art is. You can feel her mind moving through memories, grief, love, creativity, and the small details that end up meaning everything.

What I loved most is the voice. It doesn't feel manufactured or polished for mass consumption. It feels like Patti. Observant, poetic, sometimes wandering, but always honest in that quietly intense way. If you've ever connected with her music or persona, reading this feels like getting closer to the person behind it, which is why it hit so personally for me.

It's not the kind of memoir that's driven by plot or gossip. It's mood, memory, and meaning. Some parts are tender and gut-punchy, and some parts feel like you're flipping through a scrapbook of moments that mattered to her, which I actually enjoyed. A few sections drifted for me, which is why it's not a full 5, but overall I finished it feeling grateful it exists.

If you love Patti Smith, you'll probably feel that same weird closeness reading this. Like you're sitting across from an icon who's still just a human being, telling you what shaped her.

Personal, poetic, and quietly powerful.

Spoiler disclaimer: No spoilers in this review beyond the back-cover setup.

I loved this immediately and stayed in love the whole way through.

Buckeye is a sweeping, intimate small-town epic set in Bonhomie, Ohio, where two families become tangled together after one seemingly small moment at the end of World War II and then spend decades living with the ripple effects. It spans big chunks of mid-20th-century American life, but it never loses that close-up, kitchen-table feeling where you're watching real people make real choices, sometimes brave, sometimes messy, always human.

The best part is the character work. Patrick Ryan writes people the way life actually feels: contradictory, funny in odd little ways, heartbreaking when you least expect it. Nobody is a symbol. Everybody is a person. Even the side characters come in with dimension, history, and the kind of specificity that makes you go, “Oh, I know someone exactly like that.”

And somehow it's both warm and unsentimental. It has compassion without being syrupy, and it has humor that shows up like a friend nudging you at the exact right moment. The town feels like a whole living ecosystem, full of quiet routines, small gossip, stubborn pride, and real tenderness underneath it all.

What really got me is how it handles history. Wars and “major events” aren't just facts in the background. They seep into marriages, friendships, bodies, and choices in a slow, believable way. You feel the long shadow of the era without the book ever turning into a lecture.

If you like novels that feel like a whole life, that make ordinary moments feel important, and that leave you thinking about the characters like they're real people who moved away and never texted back, read this ASAP.

5 stars, no hesitation.

The premise is fun on paper: a closed-circle setup with secrets, social dynamics, and that “everyone's hiding something” energy. It wants to be one of those twisty, popcorn thrillers you speed through and immediately text a friend about.

But the execution felt more frustrating than addictive. I struggled to connect with the characters, and not in a “they're all morally messy and that's the point” way. More like I didn't feel invested enough to care who was lying or why. The tension kept trying to build, but the payoff didn't match the buildup for me, so the twists (when they came) didn't hit as hard as they should.

It also had moments where the tone felt a bit uneven, like it couldn't decide if it wanted to be sharp and satirical or dark and serious. That made it harder for me to sink in and just enjoy the ride.

If you love fast, drama-heavy thrillers with unlikeable characters and escalating secrets, you might have a better time than I did. For me, it was a miss.

Isola absolutely wrecked me in the best way. I started it “just to get a feel for it” and then suddenly I was fully transported, like I'd been dropped into another century with salt in my hair and my heart in my throat.

Allegra Goodman writes in a way that feels vivid without trying too hard. The setting isn't just scenery, it's pressure. You can feel the social rules closing in, the isolation creeping up, and the sheer effort it takes for the main character to keep going when everything around her is stacked against her. And that's what made it so gripping for me. It's not just a historical story, it's a survival story, and it feels personal. You're not watching her from a distance. You're right there with her, making sense of danger, loneliness, resilience, and the tiny moments of beauty that still somehow show up.

It's intense, emotional, and strangely comforting at the same time, because beneath all the hardship there's this steady thread of determination that never turns cheesy. I finished it feeling completely satisfied, a little haunted, and already wanting to shove it into someone's hands.

Honour by Elif Shafak is one of those books where the premise hooks you immediately. It's a blend of historical fiction and family saga, moving between Turkey and London, and it digs straight into the heavy stuff: what “honor” means, who gets to define it, and how shame can quietly shape generations.

At its core, it's about family, identity, migration, and the dangerous weight of tradition. Shafak explores how women's lives can become battlegrounds for community expectations, and how love, loyalty, fear, and control can get tangled together until people start mistaking harm for duty. The themes are powerful, and the cultural lens is genuinely interesting. You can feel the intention behind the story, and there are moments where it really lands.

For me, the execution didn't fully match the premise. I appreciated what the book was trying to do more than I actually enjoyed reading it. Parts felt emotionally distant, and the pacing dragged in places, so even though the ideas are strong, I didn't feel as pulled along as I wanted to be. It's the kind of book I respected, underlined mentally, and still found myself putting down more often than expected.

That said, if you like thoughtful, theme-driven fiction that wrestles with honor and shame, and you don't mind a slower, more reflective style, this is worth reading for the conversations it sparks.

Rating: 3/5 for me. Interesting premise and important themes, but it didn't hit with the emotional punch I was hoping for.

Surprisingly effective and genuinely useful.

I went into Eat Right 4 Your Type expecting to roll my eyes a little... and came out of it with a whole new way of thinking about food.

What I loved most is how practical it is. The book gives you a clear framework, specific food lists by blood type, and simple guidance that makes day-to-day eating decisions easier. Instead of drowning in conflicting diet advice, I finally felt like I had structure. And honestly, that structure alone was a game-changer.

It also pushed me toward more intentional eating, better food choices, and a more “listen to your body” mindset. Even when I didn't follow it perfectly, the suggestions helped me notice patterns in what made me feel good vs. sluggish.

Do I think everyone needs to treat it like a strict rulebook? Not necessarily. But as a guide for experimenting, building better habits, and feeling more in control of your diet, it delivered way more than I expected.

Worth reading, worth trying, and I can see why people swear by it.

The God of the Woods is the kind of literary thriller that pulls you in quietly, then suddenly you're hooked and side-eyeing every character like they personally owe you the truth.

Set against a lush, eerie summer-camp backdrop, the story revolves around a disappearance that cracks open far more than just a mystery. It's layered and character-driven, with that slow-burn tension where you can feel something rotten under the surface long before anyone admits it. Liz Moore is really good at writing people who feel real: complicated, guarded, sometimes unlikeable, and still deeply human.

What I loved most is how it's not just “what happened?” but “what did it do to everyone?” The book digs into power, privilege, class, family legacy, and the ways institutions protect themselves. The woods and the camp setting add a deliciously unsettling atmosphere, and the shifting perspectives and timeline keep the suspense alive without feeling gimmicky.

It's not a nonstop action thriller. It's more of a simmer. But the payoff is worth it, especially if you like mysteries that come with depth and emotional weight.

Smart, tense, beautifully written, and the kind of book you keep thinking about after you close it.

This book built my childhood, and it's still my favorite in the series.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone is the beginning of one of the most iconic fantasy worlds ever written. It follows Harry, an ordinary (and very unhappy) kid who discovers he's a wizard and is suddenly swept into Hogwarts, a school full of magic, mystery, friendships, and just enough danger to make you read with your heart slightly racing.

What makes this first book so special is the wonder. Everything is new, and you experience it the same way Harry does: the castle, the classes, the food, the rules, the feeling of finally belonging somewhere. It's cozy and magical, but it also has that gentle undercurrent of something darker beyond the edges, which keeps you turning pages.

I loved all the books, but this one will always be the most precious to me because it's where the magic starts. It's the book that made the world feel bigger, like anything could exist if you just found the right door.

A Court of Thorns and Roses was one of those books where I totally get why it has a massive fandom... but it didn't fully hit for me.

The setup is strong: moody fantasy world, a heroine thrown into a new (and dangerous) realm, and that classic “everything is bigger than you think” vibe. Sarah J. Maas is good at atmosphere, you can feel the lushness of the setting, the tension of the rules, the sense that something darker is sitting under the surface waiting to snap.

But compared to the Powerless trilogy, it felt... tamer? Less punchy. Less addictive. With Lauren Roberts, the banter and pace had me feral, like I was living in the book and talking about it for weeks. With ACOTAR, I was interested, but not obsessed. The romance didn't crackle for me in the same way, and parts of the story felt like they were taking their time when I wanted them to grip me by the shirt and drag me forward.

That said, it does have its moments. When it leans into the intrigue and the higher stakes, it gets genuinely compelling. You can see the foundations being laid for a bigger series, and I can imagine how this would be a perfect gateway into fantasy romance for a lot of readers.

One more honest note: I'm also not a fan of the author's public political stance, and that influenced my decision not to continue the rest of the series. No drama, just a personal boundary around where I put my time and money.

So overall: enjoyable in parts, clearly influential in the genre, but not on the same level as Powerless for me. If you love slower-build fantasy romance with rich world vibes, you'll probably have a great time. If you want sharp banter, relentless pacing, and that “I will cancel plans for this book” energy, this one might feel a bit mild.

Rating: 3/5 (respectfully, and with a few highlights bookmarked).